


Ribcages Are Prisons, Too.

by sharkcoochieboard



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, DNF, Depression, Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sex, Imprisonment, M/M, Memories, Multi, Prison, but its like sad fluff, dreamnotfound, maybe smut idk yet, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29053209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkcoochieboard/pseuds/sharkcoochieboard
Summary: Dear George,How are youHe scratched it out.Dear George,I missHe threw the paper into the lavafall.Dream gave up everything. He destroyed every relationship he ever cared about and lost. That's what hurt the most. He was trapped in an obsidian box, caged like an animal, with only Tommy coming to poke fun at him like he was a circus attraction. The ticking of the clock drove him insane, and taking a dive into the lava seemed more appealing with each day that passed.That is, until, George responded to one of the letters.TW// dnf, depression, angst, possible sexual themes.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 101





	1. Snow

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: Dream and George have both stated that they are fine with fan fiction being written about them, and they think it's funny. Please be aware that this story ships their characters from the Dream SMP. This story, and any other work I create, will not have ANY shipping of minors, nor will minor characters be anywhere NEAR any NSFW scene or chapter. That is disgusting. This story might contain violence, depression, or other possible triggering topics, so please only read what you can handle <3 I will put content warnings before each chapter for delicate topics, but it's hard to know what will be in the story overall until I've finished it! :] Thanks for reading!  
> \- Shark<3

“What’s the weather like today, Sam?” Dream sat hunched over at his small desk, hurriedly closing the journal he was writing in as the enormous warden entered his cell. He had blown out the lantern again. The only light source was the lavafall flowing behind the impressive figure, reflecting off of his golden armor in a way that made him glow bright orange. 

“You shouldn’t turn that lantern off if you’re going to be writing. It’s bad for your eyes,” he responded gruffly, smoking fuming from the filters of his mask as he spoke. The final unlocking mechanism for the prison cell clicked, and he cautiously entered the small space that Dream, unfortunately, called home. He set a plate down on the edge of the bed, a steaming baked potato and carrots that smelled like cinnamon and whiskey. 

“I like the dark.” 

Whiskey. It reminded him of Schlatt, not that he missed the man. He was obnoxious, aggressive, and a fucking alcoholic. Dream had realized very quickly that he had no need to try and tame him--the poison he drank had already done the job. He was glad that Schlatt had a heart attack, and the bastard child didn’t get the satisfaction of finishing him off. 

The roaring of machinery started again, and the bars of his cell locked into place again, the creeper-hybrid on the other side of the cage. Just before stepping onto the platform to disappear into the lava once more, Sam gazed into his eyes with a look that Dream could only describe as disappointment. 

“It’s snowing today, Dream.” 

He snapped his quill. 

_ “It’s snowing!” The brunette giggled loudly, looking out the window with a painted innocence. Dream laughed, running a hand through his golden hair. _

__

_ “It is,” he replied. He pulled his fur-lined chest plate on and laced up his well-loved boots before stealing a hug from George. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man’s waist and stomach and rested his head on his shoulder, pretending to look out the window with him. He knew he should be admiring the winter paradise that the weather was creating, but he could only focus on George’s deep brown eyes, filled with wonder and hidden behind soft lashes that blinked in rhythm with Dream’s heartbeat.  _

_ “Hurry up you idiots, I wanna build an igloo or something. It doesn’t snow every day, ya know.” Sapnap’s voice boomed. Dream lau-- _

“No,” he whispered to himself. He took the broken pieces of quill and dropped them into the bottom of his chest.  _ These might be useful one day _ , he reminded himself. There were plenty of backups in the large wooden chest, as well as a number of empty books for him to fill. Some of those books were going to waste, because of Tommy’s request that Dream sing song’s of praise for the child in exchange for eventual forgiveness. It wasn’t difficult to write the bullshit, but it was so boring that Dream almost preferred to stare at the clock instead. 

He took long baths nearly every day, the water kept deliciously warm from the liquid fire that surrounded his cage. He occasionally thought drowning himself in it, but his ego wouldn’t let him. Besides, he knew he would escape one day, it was only a matter of being patient. It had only been two weeks. 

Dream could be patient. 

The memory of George and the snow and the community house proved to be too much for him today, however, and he carefully placed the plate of food on the desk before crawling underneath the scratchy blanket. He turned to face the wall and imagined that he was in a cocoon, or in his childhood bed, listening to the rumbling of waves and the sunkissed breeze of his homeland. He shut his eyes and melted into his imagination until a sad sleep washed over him. 

“You have a visitor.” The large voice startled him from his sleep with a gasp. He hated when Sam did that, funneled his voice into Dream’s room with a magic that Dream didn’t understand. He blinked his eyes open and rubbed them to see who the silhouette was approaching on the platform through the lava. Blonde hair caught his attention first.

_ Punz? Punz is here to see me?  _

A nervous excitement crept into his mind. 

“Ello, bitch boy!” The silhouette yelled. 

His heart sank. Tommy. Of course, it was Tommy. He sighed, taking a large breath of air in before having to deal with the petulant child. He turned back towards the wall, away from where Tommy was approaching. He heard the clicking of the cell bars unlock. 

“Ello? Are you dead in here?” He was boisterous, clearly amused at Dream’s current circumstances. 

It made sense though, that the kid would be so delighted by Dream’s dismal living situation. They had their fair share of memories, and not many of them were good ones for Tommy. In a way, the child reminded Dream of himself when he was young. Loud, stubborn, and certain that he was the hero. It left an odd taste in Dream’s mouth when he thought about their similarities.

“‘Cho food is getting cold,” he said, and Dream heard a loud chomp. He whipped his head around in the bed. 

“Wha-don’t eat my food,” he exasperated. 

“Sorry!” Tommy feigned an apology before sitting in the chair at the desk, mumbling about how uncomfortable it was. 

“Have you come here to eat my food or what?” 

“I’m here to see how those books are coming along, big man. Or should I say little man, since you’re all,” he gestured to the dank walls, “imprisoned and shit.” 

“Very funny. The books are going well. I’m about a chapter--”

“Has anyone else visited you yet?” 

Dream swung his legs around on the creaky bed so that he was facing the blonde. 

“No.” 

“Not even Sapnap?”

“No.” 

“Or Georgie?”

He responded by snatching the plate of food from the desk before Tommy could swipe more of his carrots. He was right, they were cold now, and biting down on them, he found the taste to be slightly bitter. He disliked bitter foods. They reminded him of harsh winters, with nothing to eat but beets and burnt bread, of stinging eyes and prickled skin.

“I think if I’m well-behaved, Sam might start bringing me apples.” 

“Hm, interesting. Not really though. Anyways,” he cleared his throat, “I have, erm, business to attend to for the next two weeks, so I won’t be here to check up on you.”

“What kind of business?” He inquired. He knew Tommy might not tell him, but his conscience demanded that he press for information. 

“I’m building something. I’ve hired a contractor. I’m a businessman, you know.” He sat up straight in the chair and smirked as he fluffed his red shirt. 

“Sure, sure,” Dream said, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear. “That’s fine.” He was careful not to smile and equally careful not to frown. The best course of action in these conversations was to remain entirely neutral. Showing any sort of emotion to enemies gave them power over you.

“If you miss me, send a letter, mkay?” Tommy removed himself from the chair and made his was way to the exit. 

Dream’s heart skipped a beat.  _ I can send letters?  _

“Am-I’m allowed to send letters?” he tried not to sound too excited, but it failed miserably as he squeaked the question. 

“I don’t see why not. Oi, dickhead! I know you’re listening to our conversation with ‘cho mumbo jumbo shit. Can he send--”

“Yes. He can.” The warden’s voice responded. 

Letters. Letters to friends. 

Letters to George.

Dream had no idea what Tommy said in response or anything else he said as he left. The only thought on his mind is what he would write first. When he was alone again, he moved the still barely eaten plate of food to the side and pulled a fresh book and quill from his chest. 

_ Dear George,  _

_ How are you _

He scratched it out. 

_ Dear George,  _

_ I miss _

He threw the paper into the lavafall. With a deep breath, he tore out one more piece of paper and began again. 

_ Dear George,  _

_ Remember when it snowed last year?  _


	2. Rain

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The arms of the clock moved at an agonizing pace. They reflected the orange glow of the lava onto the other wall, and at certain times of the day, Dream could see the clock moving backward on the opposite side of the cell. It was interesting to look at when he was bored. 

He was almost always bored. 

The smell of the cinnamon whiskey carrots entered the room before Sam did. Dream had become so used to the smell that he could smell if from the other end of the platform. It was his favorite sight, seeing Sam cross the burning pit in order to drop off his food and have a small chat with him. It was also his least favorite sight because it showed how impossible it was to escape. As the platform landed, and the mechanisms to his cell began to unlock, Dream heard a cough quietly erupt from Sam’s throat, causing a plume to smoke to escape his mask. 

“Are you alright?” He asked in a harmless tone. I’ve never seen him cough before, he thought. In the many long years that he and Awesam had been friends, he had never seen the hybrid cough, or even get out of breath. It wasn’t something that typically happened to creepers or their hybrid offspring. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he responded curtly. He set the plate on the desk across the cell. 

“Do you still have enough ink?” he motioned to the chest. 

“Yes.” Dream sat up in the uncomfortable bed. His stomach growled. Perhaps he would actually have an appetite today. 

“Good.” 

The powerful warden stood against the desk for a moment, and they sat in an awkward moment of silence, the only sound being the clock on the wall and the occasional pop of the lava. 

“Well, I uh,” he started for the platform again and the security measure began to lower. 

“Wait,” Dream requested. Sam paused and turned towards the prisoner once more. 

“Is there, uhm, any mail, or scheduled visits?” His voice was quiet. He had sent the letter to George three days prior, and he had asked Sam the same question each morning. 

To be honest, Dream didn’t know what he was expecting. All he had managed to write was 

Dear George, 

Do you remember when it snowed? 

Dream. 

It was a pathetic attempt at connecting to George, and to the outside world. Knowing George, he might not get a response at all. He wasn’t one for forgiving quickly, and Dream had hurt everyone that George cared about. 

I didn’t hurt George, though, he reminded himself. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe that would be enough for  _ any  _ response from him.

“No,” Sam pulled him from his thoughts, “no mail and no visitors.” His forehead was creased, but the mask covered his mouth, and Dream couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad. He studied the warden’s face for a while more, just taking in the details of his eyes, the bags under his eyes, and the complicated mask that allowed him to breathe without his lungs imploding. 

Sam turned away, and when the cell barrier locked back into place, he spoke once more from the platform. 

“It’s cold today, and frosty, but the sky is blue.” 

Dream didn’t respond. He almost thanked Sam for telling him, but it would be pointless. Being alone for twenty-three hours of the day for the past three weeks had taught him that most of the time, speaking was unnecessary. He sighed, and pulled himself out of the scratchy sheets, itching his shoulder. 

He slumped down into the chair of his small desk and picked up one of the carrots, plopping it into his mouth. It tasted okay. The potato tasted better. He opened one of the leather journals and dipped a fresh white quill into the thick ink. Scratchy sounds filled the cell as he scribbled onto the creamy pages of the journal. He didn’t think too deeply about what he was writing, only paying enough attention to make sure that Tommy would find it satisfactory. Tommy. He would be returning in approximately eleven days if he actually meant it when he said he would visit again. 

_ Not that I care, _ he thought. 

An hour passed, or maybe it was two, but Dream concluded the first of the so-called ‘assignments’ that the blonde kid had given him, so he rewarded himself with a dip into his warm bath. 

He stripped down and sat in the water, making sure to blow out the lantern before he did so. It was a strangely safe feeling, to sit in the warm water surrounded by darkness. If he could, he would block the light from the lavafalls, too.

Tick. tock. Tick. tock. 

It almost sounded like rainfall if he closed his eyes. Thoughts of falling asleep in the water and fading into a permanent peace crossed his mind again, but he blocked them out with memories of his homeland. At times, it would rain while the sun was still shining. Those days felt magical when he was a child. When Captain Puffy had rescued him and carried him across the sea to a strange new continent with cold winters and rocky beaches, he had vowed to return as an adult. He never returned though, he had gotten distracted by founding a Kingdom, and then seeing it all torn down right under his nose.

It was a shame that George had never gotten to see it. He would have loved the way it felt on his delicate skin. 

Eventually, Dream couldn’t distinguish between the sparkling droplets of lava and the phosphenes in his eyelids, and he laid his head on the side of the tub, letting his hair dip into the water. 

“Please don’t let go,” he sobbed. It was pitch black, and his darting eyes couldn’t find any light to focus on. He gripped the hand tightly, and swing his legs forward in hopes of finding something for his feet to land on. There was no response from the body that prevented him from falling, and it made no attempt to pull him out of the void. All he could do was try to maintain his grip and pray that whoever it was didn’t let go. 

His hand started to sweat, and his heart pushed adrenaline through every inch of his body, chilling him to the bone. 

“Please, pull me up, please!” He shouted to anyone who was listening. His fingers slipped from the sweat and he tried to regain his hold, but the other hand pulled back, allowing him to fall. 

He screamed as he descended into the unknown, and was horrified as he heard his scream slowly transform into a burst of deep, rumbling laughter. 

“Dream!” Sam shook him awake violently.

He gasped and thrashed around in the small tub of water before realizing where he was. 

“Fucking shit,” the warden whipped around and pinched his forehead together, still towering over the skinny blonde man in the tub. 

“I thought you were dead.” He shook his head with a relieved laugh. 

“I must have fallen asleep,” Dream responded, carefully concealing the terror from his nightmare. 

Awesam sighed deeply. “I was apparently wrong, you did get a letter, and here is your dinner.” He motioned to the plate of food and the letter tucked underneath it. Dream thanked him quietly and stepped out of the tub. He had no need for a towel, he would dry quickly in the cell thanks to the magic and the lava, but Sam turned away as he reached for his plain outfit. Dream sat down as the platform descended, carrying the warden away. He hadn’t mentioned who the letter was from, but Dream saw a vibrant blue wax seal pressed onto the fold of the letter, decorated with the imprint of a mushroom, and he knew immediately who it was from. 

_ George. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I promise I didn't abandon this, and yes there will be more :] 
> 
> mmmm angst my beloved


	3. Damp

_ ‘I do, you brought me chunks of coal and twigs to build a snow enderman, and then Sapnap destroyed it. _

_ George.’ _

That was all. No greeting, no unnecessary words, just one sentence, and a name. Nonetheless, Dream smiled as he read it. He had spent nearly an hour finding supplies for George’s stupid snowman, and when Sapnap saw that it was done, he ran headfirst into it. George refused to talk to him until he had apologized, nose pink and lips pursed together in sass. It was a warm memory, a sharp contrast to how cold it had been that day. 

_ Maybe I’ll write a letter to Sapnap, too,  _ he thought.

Dream realized he was smiling and berated himself in his head. There was no reason to smile now. George’s response was curt, and it was impossible to decipher what the emotion behind the words was. He sat at the little desk, chewing his nails and analyzing each stroke of ink on the paper, looking for any clues about George’s feelings toward him. He remembered the snow, he remembered the playful dynamic they had all had, he remembered _ Dream _ .

_ Do you still remember Dream?  _ The voice in his head asked. He smacked himself lightly. 

_ Shut up. _

He read over the letter a few more times before ripping out another page from an empty journal and pulling a fresh quill from the chest. 

_ ‘Dear George, _

_ You have to admit, it was funny.’ _

He stared at the lava, unable to think of what to say next. 

_ I miss-- _

He scratched it out. 

_ How are you? _

Dream sighed, and ran his hands through his now-long blonde hair and twisted it up into a sort of bun on his head, securing it in place with two quills. 

“Dear George, you have to admit, it was funny. How are you…” he whispered to himself. He folded the letter up and tucked it underneath the journal, ripping out a new page. 

_ Sapnap.  _

No words came to his mind. What could he even say? 

What  _ does  _ a person say, when they’ve betrayed the trust of every single one of their friends, for the sake of control--for the sake of power? 

He growled at his own thoughts. It wasn’t true. 

_ I’m protecting them. Protecting all of them.  _

He shoved the chair out from the desk and stepped toward the lava, putting his hand out so that it almost touched the molten rock. 

_ When I get out of here, they’ll understand. _

He let his finger bend forward, just enough to contact the lava, and recoiled with a sharp hiss. It burnt through his flesh, and he grunted at the pain. Instead of finishing the letter to Sapnap, he opted to get into his bed for the night. The clock showed that it was nighttime, not that it mattered in his obsidian box. He closed his eyes and replayed the memory of the snow in his head. 

Dream wondered when Sam would start bringing him apples. He’d been good for three whole weeks. There was a courtyard at the prison, where he could enjoy the sunlight. 

Maybe if George came to visit, they could sit in the courtyard and share an apple. That would be nice. He salivated at the idea of an apple, and the sweet taste that would linger on George’s lips. 

He missed that taste. 

The darkness overtook him once more, as he drifted off peacefully thinking of old memories. The peace didn’t last long, and before he could realize what was happening, he was falling into the void. 

“Why did you let go?” He screeched. There was no response except for his own laugh. Chills crept through his body down to his bones. 

Why the fuck are you laughing. Why the fuck are you laughing. Why the fuck are you la--

A cold, damp ground collided with his spine, shattering his bones into a thousand pieces. He let out an agonized scream and sat up in his bed. 

The air got stuck in his throat, and his head was spinning. 

_ Focus. Focus.  _

He looked over to the clock and took deep breaths until he could focus on it clearly. 

_ Nightmare. Again.  _

There was no point in trying to fall back asleep, so he rolled out of the itchy blanket and onto the floor, sitting with his knees brought to his chest.

Sleeping without a nightmare was a rare occurrence. They had started nearly a year ago when he got possessed by the so-called “Dreamon.” Even after the exorcism, the nightmares had stayed. 

Fundy and Tubbo had assured him that residual effects were normal, but he hadn’t been convinced. 

When the voice in his head started referring to him in the third person, he was even less convinced that it was normal. 

_ “What’s wrong, Dream? Had another scary nightmare?” _ It would say. 

_ “They don’t care about you, Dream,” _ It would say.

_ “They want to hurt George, Dream,” _ It would say. 

It had been horrifying at first, having a voice in your head that wasn’t entirely your own, but after half a year, he had gotten used to it. 

The voice permeated into his thoughts, and eventually his words, and 

_ my nightmares now too, I guess. _

He had never told anyone about the voice, and occasionally he wondered if he would be sitting in this obsidian box if he had confessed that it was there. The only time the voice went away was when he was around George. George’s presence wrapped around Dream like a netherite chest plate, shielding him from the dreamons, from the nightmares, from the voice. 

He stood up from his position on the floor and pulled the folded letter out from under the journal. With a scratch of the quill, he added one more line. 

_ Please come see me, George. Please. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but the next one is long :] let me know what you think!


End file.
